


Apple Candy

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Multi, Pining, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is based on talitha78's fantastic Kirk/Spock/Uhura vid from the 2009 reboot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple Candy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Apple Candy--Vid](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/22792) by talitha78. 



1  
Fog rolls heavy and thick through the cornfields, dawn just beginning to pink the low-lying clouds. Jim is barely sober enough for the road. Still, he drives like he does everything else, with the throttle open, and the wind in his face is almost as good as a strong cup of coffee. 

Jim can see her from miles away. The Enterprise rises up on the horizon like a ghost, like something from a dream—her gleaming body fragmented and open to the sky, her ribs exposed. Jim pulls his bike up to the very edge of the fence, as close as he can get. He watches the play of light over the ship’s unfinished hull, and he thinks about Pike’s dare, and he _wants_.

Jim doesn’t want anything that desperately again until he’s in the transporter room of the Enterprise watching Spock kiss Uhura.

2  
“Was I a complete fool in your timeline, too?” Jim asks as his pawn disappears from the board. He doesn’t mean in terms of chess. Well, not only in terms of chess.

Spock quirks an eyebrow at him on the viewscreen and makes another move that corners Jim’s rook. “I do not believe you wish me to answer that question truthfully.” 

“Probably not.”

At that, Spock scrutinizes Jim so intently that he is tempted to squirm even though all the light years between Earth and New Vulcan separate them. “Why do you enquire?”

Jim wants to say, _Because I think you know me. Because I’d like to be that man I saw inside your head. Because this is as close as I’ll ever get to having even half of what I want_. He clears his throat. “Watch your queen, old man,” Jim says instead. “I’m not out of the game yet.”

3  
Jim knows Uhura’s first name now. Just one of the perks that comes with the captain’s chair. He knows that she is precisely five feet and seven inches tall. She is a better marksman than both Chekov and Bones, and she can curse in more languages than Jim can even count. When Spock talks to her, his face is softer, less guarded, and when she smiles at Spock, she is so blindingly beautiful that Jim aches. 

Jim knows what Uhura looks like in her underwear, and he’s never touched her in any way that matters.

“Hailing frequencies open, sir,” she says at least once every three shifts. Her posture is always perfect. She is made of right angles, this woman—brilliant, flawless, something sharp Jim could break himself on.

4  
Spock says, “I have not yet decided which course of action to take. I must consider my obligations to Star Fleet as well as those I owe to my people.”

“I know,” Jim says. “Take your time. Orders won’t officially come down for at least another month anyway. Until then, we’re on ferry duty.”

Spock inclines his head in a regal gesture, his hands clasped behind his back. Jim watches him walk away and thinks about Spock’s hands, those long fingers curled around Jim’s neck. He thinks of someone else’s memories as well, of palms pressed against one another with a pane of glass between, and he can hardly breathe.

Jim watches Spock go until he’s gone. Then he pulls up the requisition forms for the five year mission on his data padd and scrolls through, checking and double checking until his head swims from the tiny print.

5  
Uhura smells the way that cold apples taste: crisp and sweet. Jim catches the scent when she brushes past him in the mess and when they share a turbo-lift to the bridge. It reminds him of autumn on his grandfather’s farm—rows of fruit trees in the orchard, his breath white around his face in the early morning, tart juice running down his chin.

On their first shore leave in a karaoke bar on Risa, Jim listens to Uhura sing a song he doesn’t recognize, smoke and whiskey twining through her voice. The bar is crowded and noisy even though Uhura has the whole place riveted, and Jim has to lean very close in order to understand Spock when he speaks. 

Spock smells like apple candy. Like Uhura. 

Jim spends the rest of the night imagining Uhura’s mouth on Spock’s throat, her hair fanned across his lap. He wonders if Spock is utterly silent in bed, if in his passion he leaves bruises on Uhura’s hips without ever saying a word. He wonders if they sleep all night in the same bed, legs tangled underneath the sheets. When Spock and Uhura head out, Jim is stone cold sober because he’s been hard for two hours and embarrassed to leave the table for more beer. 

Bones has stared at him over the lip of a highball glass since Uhura’s first note, his gaze shrewd and cutting. He drains the last of a scotch on the rocks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Goddamn it, Jim,” Bones says finally. “Either shit or get off the pot. You’re killing me here.”

Jim swallows audibly and looks away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

6  
Jim keeps his eyes to himself and his hands to himself and his fucking nose to himself after that. He’s the captain. He’s in command. He can do this.

“Subspace frequencies are distorted at this proximity to the anomaly,” Uhura says, and Jim resolutely does not glance her way when she leaves her station to stand next to Spock. The cosmos before them ripples with energy, with random and chaotically beautiful undulations of power. The bridge is painted over with light, their uniforms stained with it—red and fuchsia and gold in the air between them all, in the spaces where Spock and Uhura’s bodies nearly touch.

“Fascinating,” Spock says with one eyebrow lifted and his head tilted in Jim’s direction. Jim doesn’t take the bait.

He stands abruptly. “The bridge is yours, Mr. Spock.” Jim cringes when Bones follows him.

“For the love of God,” Bones says the second the turbo-lift doors close. “You think the way you’re acting now is an improvement?”

Jim ignores the question. “I’ll be in my quarters if anybody needs me.”

“Go hide then!” Bones yells at Jim’s back when the doors open on his deck. “Coward.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jim says to his empty quarters.

Given his unexpected departure from the bridge earlier, Jim is not at all surprised when Spock chimes at his door. Jim is surprised, however, that he doesn’t come alone. Spock and Uhura are still in uniform even though their shifts ended an hour ago. Jim tamps down a surge of anxiety. “What can I do for you?”

Spock waits until the door closes behind them, and then he says, “Permission to speak freely, sir?” 

“Of course.”

Spock strides forward until he invades Jim’s personal space. Jim thinks he is going to choke him again or hit him, and he has only seconds to wonder why before Spock is very carefully cupping Jim’s jaw and leaning in to kiss him. Jim pinwheels backwards as surely as if Spock had thrown a punch, and from behind them both, Uhura laughs, rich and sweet.

“Boys,” she says. “Come here,” she says, and they do.

Jim helps Spock undress Uhura, the unwound apple peel of her uniform falling to her feet. They touch her together; Spock’s fingers and Spock’s mouth show Jim the way. Jim runs his tongue along the line of Uhura’s clavicle and tastes them both. 

When they are all three naked, skin to skin, Spock parts Uhura’s legs and licks a long slow stripe up her inner thigh until he reaches her clit. Jim slides one finger down the damp trail Spock’s mouth has left behind and into the tight heat of her pussy. Spock’s tongue flicks over her labia, over Jim’s knuckles—the soft underside of his bottom lip dragging over her clit until she is moaning and shuddering and saying both their names in the same ragged breath. 

After that, Jim loses himself in them—Spock’s hand on his cock, his teeth in Jim’s shoulder, Uhura’s breasts pressed against his back. “What do you want?” she says into Jim’s neck, into Spock’s mouth when she kisses him.

“You,” Jim says. “I want both of you.”

Spock maneuvers him onto all fours. Uhura slithers underneath and sucks Jim down while Spock pushes suddenly slick fingers into Jim’s ass. Jim grins when he realizes this means they showed up at his door prepared to fuck him. They work him over so slowly, not enough speed or friction for orgasm from either of them, and Jim writhes between their bodies, sweat pooling in the backs of his knees and the crooks of his elbows. Finally, god, finally, Uhura wraps her legs around Jim’s waist, and Spock kneels behind him, and when they all three move as one—it feels like hallelujah, like that first glimpse of his ship waiting for him where the highway rolled off the edge of the world. It feels like home.

Now Jim always smells apple candy, on his sheets, on his clothes, on his skin—in all the places Spock and Uhura have touched and will touch again.


End file.
